We Walked in Fields of Gold
by Seinaru Kibou no Tenshi
Summary: One year, six months and twenty-two days ago, Takeru seperated from Hikari, but will a very special photograph at her first exhibition bring them back together again? (Now with opening lyrics!)


WE WALKED IN FIELDS OF GOLD

* * *

You'll remember me when the west wind moves  
Upon the fields of barley   
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky   
As we walk in fields of gold   


So she took her love   
For to gaze awhile   
Upon the fields of barley   
In his arms she fell as her hair came down   
Among the fields of gold   
Will you stay with me, will you be my love   
Among the fields of barley   
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky   
As we lie in fields of gold   


See the west wind move like a lover so   
Upon the fields of barley   
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth   
Among the fields of gold   


I never made promises lightly   
And there have been some that I've broken   
But I swear in the days still left   
We'll walk in fields of gold   
We'll walk in fields of gold   


Many years have passed since those summer days   
Among the fields of barley   
See the children run as the sun goes down   
Among the fields of gold   
You'll remember me when the west wind moves   
Upon the fields of barley   
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky   
When we walked in fields of gold   
When we walked in fields of gold   
When we walked in fields of gold   


~ Eva Cassidy, "Fields of Gold" 

* * *

"It was wonderful having you over," Miyako said warmly, stepping aside to allow Takeru through their apartment's door and into the hallway, "We must do this more often."

"Yes, we must," Ken added, tucking an arm around his wife's waist, "The kids got a kick out of meeting their favourite author, and it was so good catching up with you." 

"Sure," Takeru said, putting on a smile he hoped seemed genuine, "It was fun."

It was such fun, he thought sourly, that he would choose major surgery above another dinner at the Ichijouji residence any day of the week. It was not Ken and Miyako's fault. He enjoyed Ken's company, even though he did have a habit of talking too much about his work in the IT industry. The other man was well-informed and could hold up his side of a conversation on anything from cabbages to kings. And Miyako was the same harmless, tactless gossip that she had always been. In one evening, he had learnt enough about her colleagues to be able to recognise them in the street and blush in embarrassment when they passed him. There were some things he would rather not know about strangers. Their rampaging, noisy horde of children could be tolerated, and he could almost bring himself to like the new baby, who had been thrust into his arms at every opportunity by her proud mother. She was quieter than the others, at least, and had the sweetest smile. He just had no desire to watch anybody play happy families after his seperation from Hikari one year, six months and twenty-two days ago. 

There had been an uncomfortable moment during dinner when Miyako, with her usual tact, had mentioned how Hikari was seeing Daisuke now. Ken had hastily shot a look at her that told her to be quiet, and Miyako had blushed and muttered an apology. She had forgotten. . . She did not know. . . She had not thought . . . She was sorry that . . . . It was too late, however. The damage had been done, and the rest of the dinner had been agonising. He had made smalltalk with Ken, laughed at all Miyako's jokes, dutifully admired the young Ichijoujis' schoolwork and all the time he had felt as if someone had slid hot needles beneath his skin. Hikari's dating Daisuke was a pain with which he had no way of dealing. It went too deep. It hurt every part of him. On some level, ever since they had seperated, he had known she would move on with her life, see other people and fall in love with somebody else. He had thought he had accepted that - he had thought he would be fine when the time inevitably came - but it hurt too much for that to be true. 

With a final smile and wave for Ken and Miyako, he turned and walked to the elevator. Even though he knew he had to return home and proofread the manuscript of his latest novel, he resisted the idea. Without Patamon there, his apartment would feel even larger and emptier than usual. His Digimon had needed to spend time in the Digital World to regain his strength. He was used to passing months with Takeru in the real world by now, but he still needed to return home from time to time to keep in top condition. He had realised that and had urged his Digimon to go, but selfishly wished he had been able to postpone the trip a bit longer. It had been the first time he had left Takeru by himself since his seperation from Hikari and the man had not realised how much he depended on Patamon's companionship to keep away the loneliness. He sighed. He definitely did not want to go home, but what other choice did he have? 

Leaving the block of apartments, he made his way down the dark street. It was late and the shops were beginning to close. In some, shopowners pulled down blinds with apologetic looks to the one or two people standing outside their windows. In others, tired waiters were cleaning up the tables and sweeping the floors for tomorrow's clientele. In still others, the blue flicker of televisions showed the news or sports or infomercials to an almost empty street. It would have been a bleak, depressing scene to match his mood, had it not been for the warm, yellow light spilling onto the pavement from a brick building at the end of the street. 

Unless he was misremembering, the building was one of Odaiba's better art galleries. He suddenly remembered seeing a sign in the subway advertising the opening of a photographic exhibition there that night. He had not caught the artist's name before the train had whisked him away, but that would explain why it was open so late at night. They were having a cocktail party in honour of his or her exhibition. He usually hated that sort of shallow, pretentious social event, but the idea was stangely appealing that night. Inside, there would be people chatting and joking over glasses of wine. They would welcome Takaishi Takeru, the so-called darling of the Odaiba literary scene, and he would not have to be alone for a few more hours. 

On impulse, he hurried towards it and his heart gave a strange, painful bound as he saw the words written on the noticeboard in front of the building. In large, black letters was written: _Fields of Gold - A Photographic Exhibition by Takaishi Hikari. Opening Tonight._ That night, it seemed like a sign in more ways than one. 

"I had forgotten she still worked under her married name," he whispered to himself. 

Not understanding why he did not turn back, he walked quickly up the stone steps that led into the gallery. The room was almost empty, although the pile of dirty wine-glasses and plates on the table attested that there had been either a very large or a very hungry gathering there early in the evening. Takeru barely noticed and certainly did not care. The one person, who could fill a room or a world for him, was present. There, chatting to a small, round man in a beret, was his Hikari. She was dressed in a loose, charcoal sweater over blue jeans and had a pink scarf tied at a jaunty angle around her neck. Her long, chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders and she only had a touch of gloss on her lips to do for make-up. Not that it mattered. Hikari did not need fancy hairstyles or make-up to be beautiful to him. 

Her eyes widened when she saw him and she excused herself from her rotund companion with a touch to his arm. 

"Takeru?" her voice was as surprised as her expression, "I didn't expect to see you here." 

"I was passing, and I saw the sign. I thought I'd take a look," as the words left his mouth, he knew how feeble they must have sounded to her, "I hope it's okay with you, Hikari." 

"Why wouldn't it be?" she smiled at him, "Let me give you the grand tour, such as it is."

"If Daisuke doesn't mind," he muttered beneath his breath.

"Daisuke isn't here," she sounded confused, "No offense, Takeru, but I have no idea why you thought he would be. He's not into art, unless it is the pictures on bills and coins." 

"I thought your boyfriend would want to be here for your big night," he could not keep all of the bitterness out of his voice. Hikari stared at him in astonishment, then began to laugh. 

"Who told you I was seeing Daisuke?" 

"Miyako." 

"I have to set her straight about a few things in that case," she said wryly, "Because I'm definitely not seeing Motomiya Daisuke. Or anybody else, for that matter." 

"Really?"

"Really," she grinned at him, "Now, come on, I want to show you my exhibition." 

As Hikari led him from one photograph to another, chattering lightly about the circumstances under which she taken each one, he barely saw a thing or heard a word. All he could think about was that she was not seeing Daisuke, was that she was not seeing anybody, was that she had not moved on yet. He did not know how that made him feel, nor how he should react. A part of him wanted to grab her and spin her laughing around the room; the rest wanted to find a dark, private place, sit in silence and process what she had said. He did not know why, but her words had somehow made everything much harder for him. 

"This is my favourite," she said softly, pausing before a photograph in a golden frame, "I know it's unprofessional to like something you took when you were twelve, but I don't care. It's still my favourite." 

It showed a boy and a girl standing in a summer field and smiling confidently at the camera. The boy was holding a white hat in his hands and his bare head shone golden in the sun. His eyes were the clear, pure colour of the sky above him. The girl beside him was dark-haired and dark-eyed, but she also glowed with a radiance that had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with her. Buttercups danced yellow around them and the air had that rare, luminous quality to it that it sometimes had early in the morning. It was as if it were too full of sunlight, he thought, as if no shadow was allowed to exist at that time or in that place. Even the grass was gilded where the sun caught the dewdrops, so it looked as if they were ankle-deep in shifting, shimmering light. 

"What do you see when you look at it, T.K.?" she asked, using her old, childish name for him. 

"I see us walking in fields of gold a long time ago, Kari," he replied with a slight smile, "Why? What do you see?" 

Hikari was quiet for a long time, her cinnamon eyes fixed on the picture and a strangely grave expression on her face, then she smiled at him and her hand closed around his larger one, "I see hope." 

* * *

Disclaimer: The Digidestined belong to Toei or Fox Kids or to both. I'm not making a Digidollar of this 'fic nor do I have any, so . . . eh, if they sue, I'll have to end up in Digitamamon's kitchen cooking noodles. Finally, the title is taken from the song that often seems to be playing in the background during nostalgic moments in Dawson's Creek. Apparently, it's a fairly old, Eva Cassidy cover of a Sting song. My profound thanks to Bandit for sending them to me. [My, these notes are rambly. :)] 

I 


End file.
